


cyclic

by KuroFae



Series: i do know two things [2]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Trope Bingo Round 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24053041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuroFae/pseuds/KuroFae
Summary: Carlos is choked; is drowning with that warm devotion. He can’t imagine wanting to breathe again.
Relationships: Carlos/Cecil Palmer
Series: i do know two things [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732459
Comments: 21
Kudos: 91
Collections: Trope Bingo: Round Fourteen





	cyclic

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for 'Fluff.' See my card [here](https://kurofae.dreamwidth.org/496.html)!

Scientifically speaking, it is a statistically average and therefore completely ordinary day when Carlos thinks to himself, _Yes, I’m going to marry this man_.

Nothing spectacular is happening. A few interesting things had happened earlier in the day, but now evening has settled over them like a closing curtain. Carlos is laid out across the couch, and Cecil is laid out on top of him. Whatever they had been watching has long since ended, and the TV screen flickers with a soft blue light that throws an ethereal glow over the planes of Cecil’s face. Carlos hadn’t been paying attention to the show anyways. He’d been running his fingers through Cecil’s hair and watching his breath grow slower and deeper as he drifted off. He’s still watching now.

Cecil is fast asleep, his eyelashes brushing against his cheeks and his lips parted. He’s warm, a heavy comforting heat. His five o’clock shadow is visible. His earrings are little dangling beetroots, and one is twisted on it’s hook and sticks out at an award angle. He has freckles covering his face, and a mole behind his left ear. The nail polish on his left hand is chipped, but on his right it is shiny and new. Carlos knows he only chews his nails on the left hand. Carlos knows many things like this. Carlos watches, and sees, and knows, and loves.

There’s a swell of affection somewhere under his left ninth rib, and the feeling skitters up the ladder of his rib cage before settling, with an odd sort of warmth, cloying and insistent, somewhere in his throat. It’s a familiar feeling. In the mornings, Carlos brings Cecil coffee, and Cecil, not quite awake, will slur through his usual praises, butchering his “perfectly imperfect”s and half-buried in bedding. Carlos will set the coffee on the nightstand and sit at the foot of the bed and watch Cecil’s muscles work under his skin as he stretches. In the afternoons, Cecil will make himself another cup of coffee before he leaves for the station, and as Carlos comes home from the lab, he’s greeted with his own cup pressed into his hand. Black, three sugars. Cecil will kiss him on the cheek as he runs out the door. He will smell like sandalwood and myrrh from the candles he burns, and oranges and vanilla from the orange milk on his breath. Carlos will turn on the radio and sip his coffee, listening to the static before Cecil’s show starts. Cecil will return home and find him asleep on the couch. He will put his empty coffee mug into the sink and kiss him awake, his lips warm and dragging; unhurried. Cecil will wash his face and will miss soap suds behind his ears. Cecil will lie on Carlos’ side of the bed first, to make it warm with his body heat. Cecil will wrap his arms around Carlos’ neck and breathe slurred “I love you”s against his lips until they both fall asleep. Through it all, Carlos’ affection will swell and surge and settle like a wave along with the tide of his breathing. The currents of his life and his existence are intertwined and heavy with the liquid weight of love.

Carlos is choked; is drowning with that warm devotion. He can’t imagine wanting to breathe again. 

“I love you,” He exhales with a finality; fulfilling an eventuality; giving the last of his oxygen willingly.

 _Yes_ , Carlos thinks, _I am going to marry this man_.

**Author's Note:**

> /Gestures vaguely/ The cyclic nature of every day life. The cyclic nature of ordinary days. The cyclic nature of the ocean. Finding that love doesn't always come in big dramatic moments, sometimes it's just pulled along with the tide. Y'know how it is.


End file.
